Ancients
by whack sparrow
Summary: New enemies. Distinction between good and evil. Lives hang in the balance. Rated T to be safe, and to allow for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Right, here we are with the first chapter of my Artemis Fowl fanfic!**

**All the characters in this story belong to Eoin Colfer. He's awesome.**

**I hope you enjoy this, more chapters'll follow. Review this? Reviews would be much appreciated. **

**Let's get started!**

* * *

><p>"Check."<p>

Artemis smirked down at Myles, who was involved with him in a game of chess. Myles was frowning at the board, scrutinizing the pieces and moving only when he was absolutely sure. Artemis was amused at how seriously the younger boy was taking the game.

"Myles," he started, but was rather abruptly interrupted by the howling, four-year-old bundle of energy that was Beckett – who had bounded into the room. The pieces were knocked off the board, at which Myles snarled and leapt onto his twin.

"You _simpleton_," he spat, through muffled grunts.

Artemis raised his hands in exasperation as Butler walked into the room, eyebrows raised at the wrestling match that was now taking place in the centre of the room.

"I didn't do _anything_."

Butler only smiled. "I know. Those two have been at it all day. It's like they're making up for the sibling rivalry you never had."

Artemis smirked. "If only."

"So are you going to come down for dinner, or will you just be in your room?"

"In my room; I have some things to take care of," Artemis replied, getting up from the armchair and making his way towards his own room. "I've already eaten a bit, and I have more pressing matters to take care of at the moment."

"Just make sure it's nothing criminal" said Butler, half-jokingly.

He couldn't see the shadow that passed across Artemis' face.

* * *

><p>Artemis turned on his computer and sat down. It quietly hummed, loading up his menu screen within fifteen seconds. Sliding his hands onto the keyboard, he opened up his personal browser, and opened his bank account manager.<p>

He had many bank accounts, of course, but he kept them all for different things. This particular bank account was rather large, and Artemis tapped away at the keyboard, transferring and paying funds to other accounts with a neutral expression on his face.

Time passed quickly, and it was late in the evening by the time he was finished. He glanced away from the computer, blinking to get accustomed to the darkness. He could hear Butler's calm drone downstairs, through the floor, under Beckett's high-pitched voice. Beckett was clearly being told to go to bed. Turning back to the computer, he saw an instant message icon flashing in the bottom right corner. Sighing, he opened the window:

**At 23:00, FoalyLEPTech wrote: **How's my favourite Mud Boy?

**At 23:01, ArtemisFowl2 wrote: **I was about to retire to bed. Do you need something?

**At 23:01, FoalyLEPTech wrote: **Me? Need something from you?

**At 23:02, ArtemisFowl2 wrote: **It wouldn't be the first time. And it's not a good idea for you to be procrastinating on the job.

**At 23:03, FoalyLEPTech wrote**: Who says I'm on my shift?

**At 23:03, ArtemisFowl2 wrote**: Well, I assumed that if you weren't on your shift, you'd either be at home with your dear wife or at least out doing something else. Your personal computer has the username 'Riverbend4Life'. Even a goblin could deduce that.

**At 23:04, FoalyLEPTech wrote:** Correct, I'm on a night shift. But you're wrong; goblins are seriously stupid. And you clearly have no Riverbend in your soul.

**At 23:04, ArtemisFowl2 wrote:** I suppose so. And I'm glad I don't have … Riverbend in my soul. Either way, I did say I was going to retire.

**You have signed out.**

Artemis switched off the computer and stood up, rotating his shoulders. Draping his casual shirt and trousers neatly over his chair, he changed into a nightshirt and settled into bed.

* * *

><p>It was not like Artemis to lie still in a bed doing nothing; it was inefficient and not productive. If his brain had not already been whirring like one of his mechanical contraptions, he would have been mentally chiding himself. But his mind was occupied –with thoughts he never thought he would even be having.<p>

Artemis had been a criminal for all his life. He had grown up in a criminal family – that was what the Fowls were, after all. And he had committed criminal acts himself; he had stolen, he had threatened, he had lied – and all from a very young age too. It was a second nature to him.

Yet, this was the one thing that disturbed him the most. It wracked him with guilt that he was as bad as Opal Koboi - and any other criminal. _Aurum potestas est_, he had been taught. Gold is power. He had been brought up to love gold and acquire it by any means.

And somehow, as if being a traitor to the criminal he was brought up as, he was beginning to dislike gold. He disliked the way it bent the weak-minded, influenced even the strong-willed and caused the majority of humans to soil their hands as they went after it – including himself. He had witnessed deaths in the past, and although he had not approved of killing, he had never had the courage to put an end to it. To put an end to the business his father had entrusted to him.

His father always told him now to ignore the pull of gold, and to live an honest life. And he wanted to; it was the one thing he wished for. But this was going against the very principles that had been drilled into him from a young age – going against the motto that had defined his life. And that was no easy task, even for a prodigy such as he.

He was well aware of how Atlantis Complex had developed in him, but he had recovered from that. He was also aware that that particular illness had been induced by guilt. And guilt, he realised, was what he was feeling now. Yes, he had gotten rid of Orion and his paranoia was gone – essentially the Atlantis Complex was gone. But the guilt remained, and one of his biggest fears was that it would never go away.

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by a beeping noise, coming from his hand. Frowning, he raised the ring that was his fairy communicator to his ear.

"Foaly, what is it? I told you, it's late." He sounded a little too annoyed, but he didn't particularly care.

"Artemis?" Holly's voice seemed to reach through the communicator and into his brain, calming him down.

"Holly? I'm sorry, I thought it was Foaly again," he said quickly. "Is anything the matter?"

"Nothing, it's been a while since we talked. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. You sound pretty tired; too much time on that laptop, no doubt."

"Computer," he corrected. "And I think it's more likely I'm tired because it's midnight."

"Never stopped you before," she replied.

"Admittedly, it hasn't. How's the crime fighting?"

"Boring," Holly replied with a burst of static that could have been a sigh. "Trouble's not giving me any assignments of importance. It's mostly just patrol duty."

"So when're you two getting married?" he joked.

"Artemis! I go on ONE date. ONE date and this is what I get. Seriously, I just did it to make him feel better – it's not like we're even in a relationship," came the flustered response.

Artemis chuckled. "Right."

"I'm being serious."

Artemis yawned, blinking his eyes and suddenly feeling very tired. "OK. I'm currently too tired to even crack another joke. I'm going to sleep now. Try not to get yourself killed while you're on," he snickered, "Patrol duty."

Holly laughed a bit at that, but Artemis was already asleep, his gentle breathing sending tiny bursts of static through the communicator. She groaned and ended the call, slipping her communicator back on her finger before lying back on her pillow, her miscoloured eyes slowly closing.

* * *

><p>Artemis woke up late, with the communicator digging into his cheek. Pulling away his hand, he rubbed at the mark while giving his brain time to wake up completely. Strangely, all he could seem to think about was Riverbend. Shuddering, he climbed out of bed and stretched his tense limbs. It was a neutral morning, a little daylight streaming through the curtains but not enough to be referred to as sunlight.<p>

Artemis had been brushing up on his physical skills – after so many years of wishing he had them, he had eventually decided to at least build them up to an acceptable level. He lay down on the floor in a prone position, and then propped himself up with his arms and began doing press-ups. After twenty, he stretched out onto his back and moved onto sit-ups. Grunting a bit, he finished those too and stood up. His brain and body were now fully awake, ready for the day ahead and without any hindrances.

He entered the bathroom, shutting the door before removing his night clothes and stepping into the shower.

The cold of the water washed out all the grogginess, and he emerged 5 minutes later, dripping wet. Two ironed suits hung from pegs on the door – a black-jacketed Baroni and an Isaia. The cheaper Baroni would do for today – he had a lot of moving around to do.

The steamy mirror distorted his reflection slightly as he combed his ink-black hair. It was slightly longer now, due to a direct request by his mother. To be honest, he didn't really mind – the hair did give him a somewhat daunting appearance, especially in contrast with his pale complexion. He remained the same size as he had been 2 years ago, despite being in a supposed growth phase. It was unfortunate, but not something he could bring himself to worry much about.

Folding up the towel and dirty clothes from yesterday, he walked out of the bathroom and deposited them in the laundry basket, just as his mother strode in with a tray.

"Good morning, Arty," she said with a bright smile, "I'm afraid we had to have breakfast without you, but I brought yours up for you!"

"Thank you, mother, but I think I'll have it downstairs – I'm dressed now," Artemis replied, taking the tray. It was laden with bacon, fried eggs and bread.

She walked past to retrieve the laundry, tousling his hair. "Honey, it's OK. You can call me 'Mum' – nobody's around!"

"Mother, I just combed that!" he protested, ducking under the arm as his mother laughed, and he made his way downstairs.

He entered the kitchen, put the tray on the table and sat down. Butler was cleaning away the remains of the family's breakfast, and he smiled as Artemis walked in.

"I still don't understand how you manage to look so…immaculate, even when you wake up late." Butler unloaded the tray onto the breakfast table for him.

Artemis shook his head. "I cannot fathom why mothers take it upon themselves to ruffle their children's hair," he complained, smoothing his now tangled locks.

Butler laughed at that. "Force of habit, I suppose. Tea?"

Artemis nodded and eyed the tray with distaste. As Butler put the kettle on, he pushed it away.

"I'll have Weetabix today." He grabbed the cereal box and pulled out two biscuits, placing them in his cereal bowl unbroken. Butler handed him the milk and he poured it quietly, gazing out at the lawn through the window.

His thoughts wondered as he ate, remembering the night before. The feelings of guilt almost resurfaced again, but he pushed them down firmly, deciding not to waste a whole day feeling sorry for himself. He spooned the cereal into his mouth, planning the day ahead of him as he munched. One of his business contacts had requested a meeting today, to request a partnership with the Fowls. Artemis doubted he would agree, but he decided he would go through with it anyway. No harm in giving it a shot.

Artemis finished off his breakfast as it was reaching 11 o'clock. He got up and smoothed down his suit, before walking down the hallway to gather his files.

* * *

><p>Holly woke up to a loud melody resounding from her alarm.<p>

"Turn off," she said clearly – at which the alarm did and she stared up at the ceiling, blinking in the morning light. Wishing for a second that she was on the surface, listening to birds chirping and the other sounds of nature, she dragged herself out of bed before she could fall back asleep.

She sat there for a minute, yawning and clearing her thoughts. Her bedroom was small and cosy, as much as she could afford – and she preferred it that way. Gazing around a little dreamily, she spotted a familiar figure sprinting past through the window. It was stocky, short and emitting dirt onto the ground everywhere behind it.

_Mulch?_ She thought, puzzled. Then she saw a group of goblins sprinting past too, fireballs hissing in their fists. She sighed, _no shower for me today, then. _Putting her alarm on the table, she got up quickly, stretched, and then hurried off to the bathroom to get ready.

Exactly 6 and a half minutes later, she was sprinting out of the door kitted out in a jumpsuit and readjusting her helmet. Her Neutrino handgun was in its holster, setting flicked to stun. She could easily tell which way to go – there was earth spewed all over the floor. Some cinders were alighting in a nearby bush, threatening to catch fire in earnest, so Holly quickly stemmed them with some leaves and sprinted on.

Turning a corner, she heard voices up ahead and drew her Neutrino cautiously. An alley on the street was glowing suspiciously, and she ran to it, getting excited. She truthfully hadn't been allowed on any dangerous missions, and while most people would be glad, Holly was aching for some decent action. It was boring down in Haven and there was nothing to do for an elf who lived alone such as her.

Mulch was cornered up against the wall by three goblins, a false look of terror on his face. It was so obvious that it looked like he was about to burst out laughing – however, goblins aren't known for their intelligence and they hissed, advancing on him with their hands raised menacingly. It was almost comical and Holly bit back a grin, knowing Mulch was preparing himself for something big.

Holly decided she wasn't going to let him get all the fun out of the situation, and she gave a shout before firing three quick shots of her handgun. Two of the goblins instantly collapsed, incapacitated – but the third had ducked low as the shot whizzed past his head. Mulch was forced to jump out of the way and the goblin turned round, conjuring a fireball and sending it hurtling towards her. It flashed towards her and she dived to the right, feeling the heat of it sizzle as she rolled back to her feet and fired a couple more blasts at the goblin. It hid behind a waste disposal unit, fireballs in hand. The Neutrino shots sunk into the unit, demolishing it as it beeped in protest.

The hapless goblin hadn't, of course, taken into account that Mulch Diggums was standing less than 5 feet away from him, an extremely tense expression on his face. Holly noticed it, and hastily backed out of the alleyway, dodging two more fireballs with a duck to the right. The goblin snarled in triumph, assuming she'd retreated out of fear. Which, ironically, she had…

The gas bubbles in Mulch's stomach had built up to a peak by now and he turned around, unbuttoning his bum-flap. He could feel them vibrating in his backside, desperate to be released. He couldn't have stopped the impending missile even if he wanted to.

A little 'squeak' of air escaped his behind and the goblin turned round, suddenly remembering. It was too late, of course, and the goblin barely made a sound as he was blasted thirty metres into the air before his primitive brain could grasp what had even happened.

* * *

><p>Holly dumped the three unconscious goblins in a heap, scowling at Mulch.<p>

"Had to make a scene of it, didn't you," she grumbled. She'd scouted around and finally found the goblin lying dazed in a garden, a fair distance away, and she wasn't particularly pleased about it.

Mulch held up his hands. "It wasn't intentional." He went on, "Clay can be a very unpredictable substance when ingested. Sometimes it'll lie inside you, dormant for hours, and then it'll just explode." He waved his arms, indicating an explosion.

Holly yawned. "Like I care. Thanks for waking me up so early."

"You're welcome!" Mulch grinned, completely missing the sarcasm in the statement. Suddenly his face twisted in discomfort, and he clutched his stomach.

Holly paled and backed away. "No. That had better not be happening."

"A-aftershock.." was all Mulch managed, before he let loose, ripping a hole in his own flap as the last vestiges of gas inside his system forced their way out of him.

Holly barely managed to gasp before she was lifted off her feet and thrown against the wall by the gust. She lay there for a minute, slightly dazed, and glanced at her Neutrino on the floor, which had fallen out of its holster.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mulch bent double, unable to control his laughter. The dwarf was _laughing._

She was going to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for not updating in so long. I've been trying to write, but time is precious. I wouldn't normally take this long to update even then, but I scrap most of what I write. Anyway, I made a couple of changes to the end of this chapter. It's longer, and a lot more interesting! I made the changes because I ran into a bit of a dead end as to how to continue on to the next bit of the plot without making it sound rushed and jutted. **

**All the characters so far belong to Eoin Colfer. **

**Read on, and review! I'll remind you to review at the bottom, just so you don't forget, haha.**

* * *

><p>Artemis was disgusted. He made no effort at all to disguise his contempt for the snivelling man in the chair opposite his. He felt no pity for a pathetic criminal such as this.<p>

"Please…Master Fowl," the man begged. His voice was wavering, laced with fear. "I never meant to – I mean I wouldn't ha-"

Artemis silenced the man with a wave of his hand.

"Artemis Fowl knows no mercy," he stated. The meeting had been a planned assassination attempt – the man was a bounty hunter. Yes, of course – this was all about money. Wasn't everything always about money? Money, money, money. The attempt had been foiled all too easily and the man had confessed within five minutes, reduced to a grovelling wreck.

"I'll p- I'll pay you everything I have. I'll give you information. Contacts! Numbers, pins, secrets, anything!"

Artemis gave him a long, hard stare. His mismatched eyes bored into cowardly ones, uncovering nothing but greed and fear.

"Butler, get it out of my sight," he frowned. Butler obliged, noticing his charge was beginning to show signs of irritation. It almost seemed as if something was bothering the young genius.

* * *

><p>The car drove silently through the rain, weaving down roads and side streets. Butler was at the wheel, pondering over the reason for the assassination attempt. He knew these things didn't just happen, and his soldier's sense was throbbing ever so slightly inside him.<p>

Artemis called from the back, "Let's go straight back to Fowl Manor. I have no wish to be pestered by anyone else today."

Butler changed course, not saying anything for a while. The car hung with silence, rain whipping against the windows as if daring to drown out the next to talk.

Butler glanced at Artemis through the rearview mirror.

"Artemis, is something wrong?" He'd said it plainly, in a concerned but not pressing tone. He could see the agitation clearly on the teenager's face, and it was not normal. Something was definitely wrong, he could tell.

The rain did not relent, pouring down on the windscreen almost as fast as the state-of-the-art wipers could clear it.

A sigh from Artemis, then a pause. "I'm alright, Butler."

Butler gave a small snort, but did not push the matter. He could only hope that a relapse was not on its way. He frowned, feeling his sense of impending danger increase. Checking the mirrors, he could see no-one tailing the car, and no suspicious-looking pedestrians. But the sense was there, and he had to take into account the fact that their attackers could be fairies, and fairies could shield.

He opened his mouth to relay the information to Artemis – and that was when three fourteen-year-old kids walking out of a comic-book store gazed robotically at the approaching car, calmly pulled out Softnose lasers from their bulging bags, and opened fire.

The first lasers slammed into the body of the car, making dents in the metalwork. Butler swerved, thinking fast. They had to get out of the vehicle before one of those lasers pierced the fuel tank.

Artemis snapped to attention. Being fairy technology, the Softnose blasts were damaging the otherwise bulletproof vehicle.

"Jump!" Butler's voice was sharp and calculated. Artemis didn't hesitate; trusting Butler's judgement, he kicked open the door and dived out awkwardly, hitting the ground with an 'Oof'. A second later, he was covered by Butler's frame as the car swerved into the corner with a crash.

He was hoisted up by one of Butler's arms as the other pulled out a dart gun and fired expertly, piercing one of the slow-reacting attackers in the ankle. Attackers they may have been, but they were inexperienced teenagers, and the lasers were hopelessly off target, shattering shop windows and boring holes in the building walls.

Artemis gasped in protest as he was plonked into a puddle behind the cover of a parked van, while Butler reloaded his gun with a pre-prepared dart magazine. Artemis regained his composure quickly, analysing the situation. There were two more assailants, and their aim was not especially good, judging by the lasers that were soaring into the sky a good 10m above the van. Butler had three more magazines of darts left, and on top of that, half a dozen of live ammunition inside his jacket. Artemis decided that the situation was now under control, and allowed himself an inward smirk as he heard two hisses and two distinct thumps through the din.

Butler reappeared next to him, his weapon still out.

"There could be more," he warned.

"I doubt it," Artemis said, wiping wet hair out of his eyes. "If anyone was waiting, they would have attacked by now. However, a quick check would be in order."

Butler did a soldier's scan of the area, searching for anything that could pose any sort of danger, and anything out-of-the-ordinary – in this case 'ordinary' being 'not smashed to pieces'. The corner had been completely wrecked, and the comic-book store owner was cowering beneath the counter, a flimsy rod held in his hand.

When Butler had done a quick scout of the area (with Artemis in close proximity, of course), he gathered up the discarded weapons off the ground and hurried Artemis into the comic-book shop. The man was still bunched up beneath the counter, looking shell-shocked. Comics were strewn everywhere, smashed glass glittering the floor.

Butler glanced down at the man. "You can leave, now."

The man twitched but didn't move. Butler sighed, instead turning to Artemis, who was calmly examining a Softnose laser.

Artemis scrutinised the weapon, making absolutely sure that it was indeed a Softnose. He ran a finger over the inhibitor, thinking quickly. Then he looked up sharply at Butler.

"Alright. This weapon is clearly fairy technology. It's a Softnose laser, designed to kill, and so the fairy that masterminded this operation clearly wanted me dead. Also, the weapon is illegal, so the fairy in question would be a criminal."

Butler frowned. "A criminal fairy that wants you dead, it must be Opal."

"It might well be," Artemis mused, leaning against the counter. "Softnoses were used by the B'wa Kell, and Opal has used those particular goblins in the past. But, I don't think it would be wise to jump to conclusions. This isn't Opal's style. If she wanted to kill me, she'd do it quite differently, and she'd make it a lot more secure." He drummed his fingers against the wood. "But then again, this is possibly the beginning of a plan."

"I see." Butler thought quickly. "Well, the first thing to do is to secure the location."

He strode over to the entrance, glancing at the three snoring teenagers. Searching their pockets, he found a mobile phone, an iPod and a small amount of cash. Dragging the bodies over to the other side of the corner, he dumped them in a side alley and sprinted back to the shop. He was relieved to find Artemis stacking some of the comics back on a shelf, looking remotely bored.

Artemis glanced at the phone in Butler's hand and took it, pushing the power button. A password screen came up, and he pulled out his own phone, keying in commands at speed. Within minutes the other phone blinked green and unlocked, displaying a background of a car. He went through the phone, looking for anything important. The contact list looked normal, as did the calendar and photos. He opened the text messages and scrolled through them.

The majority of the text messages were meaningless, and he made a small sound of annoyance as he flicked through them. Then he saw something, his mind latching on to the anomalous message even as he went past it. Scrolling back, he read it through:

Can you open the middle drawer inside the cold bedroom soon?

Scanning it again, he picked out the odd words. _Can, open, middle, inside, cold, soon. _The first letters: _**C O M I C S**. _

Comics. This was a command, he realised. It was direct information and had been received precisely one hour before the attack. The sender was unidentified, but Artemis' phone took care of that. It could trace the untraceable, after all. After a couple of seconds, the data flashed on his phone, in the form of an unreadable word. The text looked similar to Gnommish, but it wasn't – the symbols were different, despite the format being the same.

"Butler," he frowned, "We have text, but it appears to be in a different language."

Butler leaned closer to the screen to have a look. "It looks like Gnommish. Can you translate it?"

Artemis thought for a second, then shook his head. "I could translate it, but it would take a lot more time than we have to offer. It has too many possibilities."

"Then what do we do?"

Artemis grimaced. "As much as I hate to admit it, this calls for the assistance of someone more knowledgeable of fairy dialect. Yes, I think it's time to give Foaly a call."

* * *

><p>The centaur in question was working on a draft for a new Neutrino, sketching possible component designs on an e-pad. The problem so far with the pistols' range was – well, he wouldn't admit there was a problem with them, even if there was. They were lightweight, simple-to-use, powerful enough – technically, they were perfectly fine. But Trouble was pushing him for a new version, and to be honest, he didn't mind. He loved when people depended on him for stuff.<p>

The barrel could be a little longer, he supposed, as he gnawed at a carrot. It would certainly look better that way, and in terms of creating a new model, aesthetics would get the most positive feedback. As he sketched the barrel in, someone rang his buzzer. Frowning, he put down the pad and clopped over to the booth door.

"Open up!" It was Trouble, his voice dim through the layers of glass. It was clear he was shouting, though. He was becoming more and more like Root nowadays. Foaly guessed it was a Commander thing. But then again, it was probably due to being around Foaly.

He unlocked and opened the reinforced door, suppressing a grin. "What is it, Commander?"

Trouble wasn't impressed. "Foaly, you've got to give me some sort of key to this damned door. I don't want to keep having to yell my lungs out whenever I have to hand you a case file."

Foaly nodded smoothly, taking the folder from the Commander's hand. "Sure, sure." Yeah, sure. Like _that _was every going to happen. Even Caballine didn't have the key card to Foaly's Operations Booth. It was his own little world.

Trouble was unconvinced. "Seriously, Foaly. People are beginning to think I have temper problems, when all I'm trying to do is get you to hear me through all that glass."

Foaly had to suppress another grin at that. "Really?"

"And why don't you make a hole in it or something?" Trouble added. "You know, so you can actually hear people in there?"

Foaly shook his head. "No way! There'd be a weak point in the structure."

Trouble sighed. "Foaly, it's an Operations Booth. You're in LEP HQ, not a war zone."

Foaly was about to answer, when a loud beeping began to emanate from one of his gadgets, followed by an automated message: "Anomolous Report Pending."

"Hang on a minute, Commander. Got to check that," Foaly said quickly, before going over to check the device. He typed in a command into it, and it immediately beeped again before streaming onto one of the bigger screens. The report flashed up on it, in scrolling text. It read:

**Officer**: Private F. Lampe

**Time**: Submitted: 12 minutes ago

**Situation**: Something's happened on surface. One of the streets in Dublin; coordinates at the bottom. It was a gunfight. My radar detected Softnose blasts at the time, when I was flying to a shuttle port. I flew over to check, but it had finished by the time I got there and I didn't fly down due to lack of back-up.

Foaly hurried over to his computer, opening up some programs as Trouble entered the room. His fingers clambered over the keyboard, moving furiously. Softnoses, above ground? Gunfight? This was bad. He had to check the camera feed at those co-ordinates.

Softnoses reminded him of the B'wa Kell incident, which was not something he enjoyed remembering. The B'wa Kell incident in turn reminded him of Opal. Knowing her, this was probably one of her schemes. And if it was, he wasn't going to let her get away with it.

"D'arvit," he swore after a minute. "Too many Softnose blasts. The low-budget camera couldn't keep up. We have about four images, but then it autoed out."

Trouble gaped. "Just how many people were involved in this?"

Foaly looked up at the screen. "We're about to find out."

The tiny camera was embedded high up in the street corner, and it pointed down at the scene. The view was obscured by rain, and it was reasonably dark, but nevertheless two figures were clear to see, and it was also clear to Foaly and Trouble who they were.

"Artemis and Butler," Foaly stated. He was good at that – stating the obvious. It generally annoyed people.

"Pan and zoom," ordered Trouble. Foaly did, and the now larger image displayed a determined-looking Butler blocking the small frame of Artemis, who was in the process of getting up off the ground. Laser blasts were suspended in mid-air, heading in all directions.

"Well?"Trouble asked, as the video slowed down to a halt. "What happened next?"

Foaly shook his head, closing the program. "It couldn't capture any more. These things have a very small capacity to process with. Enough memory, but the cameras simply aren't fast enough. They try to, but after a while they'll fry out. We're lucky we managed to get such a good shot of the scene, and that it saved what it captured before frying out."

Trouble peered closer to the screen. "Remind me to raise your budget for that kind of thing."

Foaly grinned. "A general pay rise would cover all of that, and on t-"

"No."

"It was worth a try," Foaly sighed.

Trouble shook his head. "It wasn't. Anyway, this is looking pretty bad. But, I can't really do anything about it until you see just what's going on up there. I don't want to send out a valuable team on a false alarm."

"Of course. I'll look into it. And, Trouble, tell Holly about this. I have a feeling she'll want to know."

* * *

><p>Holly frowned as she completed her fourth patrol round of the shuttle port. She could hear nothing but the small hisses of the shuttles refuelling. It was so <em>unfair. <em>Today wasn't even a shuttle flight day, for heaven's sake! The port was closed for repairs and refuelling and she was confined here to_ patrol_? Nobody in their right mind would want to try and steal a shuttle while it was refuelling- unless they had a particular desire to be zapped by plasma, of course. Not that anyone would have a chance to get near a shuttle when she was on patrol.

She flicked the safety on her Neutrino on and off as she walked, not caring that Foaly warned her not to, and wishing for the millionth time that she wasn't doing something so boring. She was a high-ranking captain – on _patrol duty_. It was just like Trouble, the Commander, to give her such a tedious job. He was still sore that she'd refused to go on a second date with him – always giving her the stupid jobs. 2-day stakeouts of Howler's peak… training new recruits… and any other job that nobody else in the police force wanted to do. Occasionally an assignment to bring in a rogue goblin, but that was hardly a challenge. It was like Trouble was throwing a sulky, drawn-out tantrum.

Half an hour later, she headed back to the plaza, abandoning the last 15 minutes of her shift. The air was cool, although only as cool as artificial air can get. Not a replacement for real air. The sun strips had begun to dim, as some lights in houses went on. A pixie couple were walking past her towards a fancy diner, holding hands. The female pixie looked slightly like Opal, with a similarly-shaped head. Holly wondered what sort of scheme the evil pixie was currently plotting. With two Opals alive, it was bound to be bad. Hopefully Foaly was doing something to find out, or Artemis. She hadn't seen the now-recovered genius in about six months. He'd probably half-taken the world in that much time, knowing him.

Soon she was approaching the security-protected entrance of the headquarters. It consisted of a hidden retina scanner, a routine fingerprint pad and finally a coded switch. The retina scanner was the important part, though. Foaly had boasted for days about that one. The miniscule camera was motion-sensitive, and would swivel automatically towards the retina area of the organism. It was capable of determining whether a person was conscious or not, which apparently did 'a great deal more than any of that Mud Man's security measures'.

She presented her head to the retina scanner, then pressed her hand to the pad and keyed in the code. All three machines beeped twice and the doors opened to admit her, the warmer inside air greeting her face with a gentle swish.

Police plaza was a relatively small building – it was the smallest of the three regional bases. It was built for efficiency, not aesthetics; indeed, the offices were small and close together and the desks ugly. It was one of the reasons nobody wanted a desk job. Criminals were brought into a cell unit about a kilometre away, and it was a running joke between the officers that the confinement cells allowed for more freedom of movement than their drab workplaces. Sadly, this wasn't much of an exaggeration.

This evening, it was as busy as usual. Officers were hurrying around off to different briefing rooms, ready for evening and overnight missions. A group of recruits were leaning against a wall in the corner, looking very tired and very dirty after a day of training. Some of the unluckier officers, like her, were returning from things like patrol and cleaning duties to report to Trouble.

She headed towards his office to report. There wasn't really anything _to_ report, but rules were rules. Yes, LEP had quite a few of those kinds of purposeless rules. For example, keeping helmets on during briefings, regardless of how long the briefings are. Try telling yourself it's for the good and safety of the LEP when your ears feel like somebody flattened them with a sledgehammer. It won't help.

She knocked, and Trouble called her in. The office reminded her painfully of when it'd been Root's. The layout had been changed when Sool was Commander, but the feel was still the same. Memories.

"Reporting," she said, indicating her helmet.

Trouble was stood up, and he walked over to his desk to pick up a pen. "So...?"

"Well, there's nothing to report," Holly said, her tone a touch icy. "It was just a patrol job, after all." She shrugged, looking round the office, which was just as drab as all the others. Trouble was probably stuck here for half of his job. Suddenly patrol jobs didn't seem so boring anymore.

"Well?" she questioned. "Can I leave now?"

He shook his head, ignoring her scowl. "Wait. Foaly asked me to tell you to go see him." He paused. "Something about Artemis Fowl. He said it was important."

Holly was immediately alert. "Artemis? What about him? Did something happen?"

"Well, yes. One of his surveillance cameras picked up some footage above ground. A firefight." He turned to give her a photocopy of the report, but she was already out of the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Things will start to flow now. I reckon I'll update a lot quicker. <strong>

**Review! It fills me up with a sort-of pleasure. It's hard to describe. **


	3. Chapter 3

**And here's Chapter 3. I had quite a bit of fun writing this chapter!**

**Also, don't skip the first half of it - I'm *_not*_ introducing an OC or anything, but this is my way of introducing the evil in this story. The evil guys. Y'know, since Opal is TOTALLY overused, and I love her anyway.**

**Disclaimer: All I own is the plot and the villains. Because it's nice to have some originality with the evil side of things. Everything else is Eoin Colfer's, and he's awesome. **

* * *

><p>Mark was tired. It was, what, 9 o'clock now? Yet, he was still on his shift. It would have ended thirty minutes ago, had the person after him actually bothered to turn up on time. He would've been back home by now, making a relaxing cup of tea and discussing the latest issue of Urban Freeflow's 'Jump' with his room-mate. As it was, he was stood behind a drab pub counter, polishing the same glass repeatedly and waiting for the rowdy group in the corner to order more drinks. He reminded himself that the job was only temporary, to tie up a couple of loose ends. He'd just have to bear it for now.<p>

The evening was wet, and small trails of water erased each other down the windows, reminding him of trains on intermeshing tracks. He watched them with mild interest, leaning on the counter and finding them calming. As he watched, a particularly heavy raindrop gathered on the glass and began to travel downwards in an erratic motion, picking up more water on the way. It descended near to the bottom, about to fall, and he made to look away. That was when it stopped. _What?_

He stared at it, and as he stared, it quivered. Then, it did something even more absurd. It began to _travel upwards_. Mark blinked, and rubbed his eyes. No, it was still travelling upwards! It seemed undeterred by all the other globs of water descending down steadfast, as it continued to defy gravity. What was happening?

As sure as he was of his vision, the water droplet was crawling up the window. Mark was dimly aware of the raised voices of the group in the corner – they were probably trying to get his attention to order another round – but he was immersed.

As he watched intently, he made out a figure outside, through the blurred windows. It appeared large, mysterious even. Not in a good way. It approached the door of the bar, and he realised with a slight sense of relief that it was three figures and not one huge abomination. Not that things like that could exist. Right?

Yet, something didn't feel right. The droplet of water was vibrating violently now.

The door opened, and the three figures stepped inside. A man, young and dark-haired, in a leather jacket and wearing a very strangely-shaped rucksack on his back. He was accompanied by two striking women with similar rucksacks. Mark didn't understand why, but he felt some uneasiness unfurl and take flight in his stomach. It fluttered frantically as they neared the counter.

"Well, hello there!" The man had spoken. How had he gotten to the counter so fast? Mark put down the glass and pretended to smile. His tongue was frozen.

He blinked, and the two women were there too, equally bright smiles on their faces. One of them knocked on the air in front of him. "You in there?"

He flinched back, and picked up the glass again. "Yes. Yes, of course. Hello. Would you like anything to drink?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," said the man. "Anything will do."

The women nodded, and Mark was going to go to get them some water, when one of them leaned against the counter. "Oh, but- where are our manners? We haven't even introduced ourselves!"

The other one gasped. "Well, how _rude _of us!" She looked at the man.

"Yes, please excuse us for that," he said, still grinning. He indicated the first woman. "That's Mei."

The woman winked at Mark, and he stared, intrigued. And… somehow, a mist had descended upon them in the bar. How unlikely! And… he was finding it difficult to think straight. She had black, medium-length hair that hung down her neck, and seemed to him exactly like a void. And everything seemed so very out-of-focus – he couldn't really—

"-ight just take your breath away, if you're not careful..." The man was talking, softly. Mark blinked and wrenched his gaze away from Mei, with difficulty. His head seemed to clear at the same time, and he turned to look at the other woman, utterly befuddled.

"Hel. Pleased to meet you…" She reached over the counter and held out her hand. Mark looked at it for a second, and then grasped it nervously. She shook it, and he felt a curious sensation in his hand. He couldn't quite place it, but it wasn't a pleasant sensation. She let go almost as quickly as she'd shaken it, and the feeling vanished. But… his hand felt very… tired. Yes, it felt drained, almost. What was _up_ with these people?

"And me? I'm Inp," the man said, shifting his rucksack slightly on his back. Mark nodded, but didn't dare to try and look him in the eye.

"Ah, well. I'm Mark." He forced a small smile, and then pointed behind him. "Well, I'll, er, go and get you some water." With that, he stumbled over through to the fridge where they kept the bottled water. Thankfully, he was obscured from view in here, and he set down the glass, releasing a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Those three people were beyond strange – dangerous, even. He shuddered and took out the bottles of water as quickly as he could, half-expecting one of them to suddenly appear behind him at any moment. Damn, he shouldn't have even needed to be dealing with this kind of thing – his shift was supposed to be long over!

When he got back with the water, the three were still standing exactly as they had been. The group in the corner had gone very uncharacteristically quiet, for some reason, and an apprehensive silence had descended inside the bar. Mark could feel the tension, reverberating around the room –as if there hadn't already been enough. If he was unsettled before, he was now thoroughly spooked.

He set the bottles of water down, and swallowed. "Here's the water," he said, a tad unnecessarily. He stared fixatedly at Hel, since she was the _least_ dangerous to look at.

Hel was frowning, and she turned to Inp. "We're out of time."

Inp nodded slightly. Mark busied himself in picking at a speck of nothing on the counter, glad that their attention was not on _him_. And perhaps they would leave, now. After this, he would close the bar and go home. Then, he would quit the job. There were other ways to 'tie up loose ends' – and besides, he'd heard that a vacancy had opened up at the local dry-cleaners.

"Well then, we'll pay, shall we?" Inp tapped the counter, and Mark nodded with a feeble smile.

"Erm, it'll be 4 euros."

"She has the money…" Inp jerked a thumb at Mei, and Mark instinctively looked at her. It was probably a mistake. No, it was a mistake.

Her eyes, to be specific. They attracted his gaze, and it was impossible to resist – well, how _could_ he resist them? So dark and entrancing, they seemed to be like jewels, almost. Jewels in the fog. Everything was growing foggy now, and he couldn't see a thing, except those beautiful eyes. Thank the heavens he could still see those. He knew he'd wanted to look ever since he'd caught his first glimpse of them. It was like freedom, being able to stare freely.

He felt that they were the only thing clear to him. There was no bar anymore, there were no people, drinks or loose ends... just a milky emptiness. He was standing on nothing, but he wasn't falling because the eyes were keeping him fixed in place. So he stared at them, feeling delight in their unhindered image.

A body began to solidify around the eyes. White mist swirled, gaining opacity and colour until he was staring at the woman again. Ah, the black void of hair. The woman's name was Mei, he remembered vaguely.

"Submit," the mouth whispered, in a simple statement. The voice was angelic, exactly as he'd expected it.

"I submit," he said, the words bubbling out of his throat with ease. So she wanted him to submit - she needn't have asked! This woman's will was his will.

More fog was solidifying, faster now. He could make out the tables, the counter and the windows as the scene reappeared in front of him. He was back in the bar - but, he no longer cared.

He looked around him, and smiled a grateful smile. She'd led him out of the fog.

Mei folded her arms, and regarded Inp with disdain. "You play around too much."

* * *

><p>"Yes, Foaly, they were young teenagers," Artemis said into his communicator, a little impatiently. They had decided to wait inside the wreckage that had previously been the comic-book shop, and decide their next course of action before leaving. Artemis had his finger to his mouth, explaining to a disbelieving Foaly and Holly the details of the attack.<p>

"I still don't believe you," came Foaly's voice through the ring, accompanied with an indignant whinny. "And you say they looked about 14?"

"Yes, Foaly," Artemis said through gritted teeth, "but that's hardly the point here, is it? The pointis, we were attacked, and Softnoses were involved, which leads me to assume that the _mesmer _must have been involved somehow. That should clear _that _up. Shall we move onto more important details, now?"

"I'd say that's a pretty important detail. How can you be sure of who attacked you, anyway?"

Artemis ignored him. "Holly, were there any indicators of a shielded or invisible enemy in the surveillance footage?"

There was a pause as Holly checked. "Well, not that I can see… but the footage kind of sucks."

"What?"

Foaly's sheepish reply twinged through Artemis' finger. "Well… er, you know. Frame-rate problems. Ahem." He coughed.

Artemis frowned. "Slashed budget?"

"Yeah." Another cough.

"He's lying," Holly cut in. "He just spent most of it soundproofing, laser-proofing, sight-proofing, and a whole lot of other 'proofing' his little Paranoid Booth."

Foaly protested. "No, Trouble won't raise my budget!"

Butler, who was listening next to Artemis, spoke up. "Enough, Foaly. We've got more pressing matters to deal with right now."

"Yes, but I'm just clarifying the –OW! … Fine, fine, fine. Geez."

"You're welcome, Mud Boy."

Artemis smirked. "Now. The weapons were definitely Softnoses, I confirmed that. Therefore, obviously a fairy has either masterminded this, if it's any sort of a plan at all, or been a part of it at some stage. My guess is it is part of a plan, but either way, we're still at square one."

"So?"

Artemis continued. "Or we _would _be. As it was, I hacked into one of the teenagers' phones, and discovered a message."

"Short, to the point and in a simple code," Butler added. "The sort of thing a hitman receives from his employer."

"Did you trace it?" Foaly asked.

"Of course," Artemis replied crisply. "But I ran into a little… language problem."

"But you know fluent Gnommish," pointed out Holly, confused. "Better than most of the fairy population, in fact."

"I never said it was Gnommish." Artemis took out his years-advanced phone, opening up the foreign text he'd transferred from the teenager's device. "I'll send it to your system, Foaly. You have a wider knowledge of fairy dialects than I have, and while the format does resemble Gnommish, it's most definitely not."

He pressed the send button, and waited. "Also, Holly, try to see if you can read it with the Gift of Tongues."

A second passed, and a beep sounded from the communicator, presumably Foaly's computer. There was a short silence, and Artemis shot Butler a quick glance. "Do you think she can read it?"

"Quiet, Mud Boy, I'm concentrating."

Artemis winced. Still as upfront as ever.

"I… I can't. This is really strange. The Gift of Tongues isn't working. It just seems like your ordinary troll gibberish to me," Holly said.

Artemis sighed. "Well, I didn't expect it to be that easy. Foaly, I'm assuming you can't read it either at the moment. Why don't you run it through a translator database?"

"One step ahead of you, Arty-boy," came Foaly's reply. "I've already run through the database, and there's not even a single match. Also, I took the liberty of checking for codes and ciphers, but there's still nothing. If there was a code, my Ciphaur would have cracked it like a stinkbird's egg."

"Code? Codes don't work in Gnommish," said Holly, sounding amused. "You didn't know that, Foaly? The Gift of Tongues can automatically translate any code, so long as it actually says something."

"Centaurs don't have magic. And it's good to hear that the Gift of Tongues extends to things like _that_, when it excludes other important things, like actual languages..." Foaly whinnied, probably thinking he'd made a joke. Nobody laughed, but Butler's ever-stoic features hinted at slight amusement.

Artemis leaned into the communicator. "Well, this text is definitely not gibberish. Phones in the present world don't allow for anything but pre-programmed text, and in that phone's case, just Roman characters and numbers. Mundane, I know. Holly, can you think of any languages that the Gift of Tongues do exclude? It could be important."

"Exclude? Well, none, really. That's the point of the Gift of Tongues. We've had it since the ancient times."

There was a pause, then an overexcited whinny from Foaly. "Of course! I'll run a check through an outdated translator database! They do have the more ancient tongues in them – but we deleted them from the new database to avoid data corruption." There were sounds of rummaging, and the centaur's voice became somewhat muffled. "The files were incredibly big, and complex too. Every time we tried to store them in the universal database, something or the other would crash."

"Good, look into it." Artemis looked up from the counter for a second. It was dark, well into midnight, and a chilly night at that, he noticed. Butler had blocked up the entrance with rubble and shelves, so not much was visible outside, but the air did get in. Apart from that, the shop was exactly as it'd been when they'd come in. It wasn't an ideal place to spend the night, but they didn't have much choice.

"Brilliant!" Foaly's voice jolted him back to the task at hand. "There's ... hang on, there's only one match. And it's not direct. But it's a match, nevertheless."

At this, Butler leaned in too. "Well?"

"The system accounts for writing style and minor symbol characteristics too, together. That means even if the matches are indirect, there's got to be some sort of connection."

"No lectures," interrupted Holly, before he could start rambling.

"Sorry. Yes, there's a match. There's a part of the complicated symbols that matches up to the ancient dwarven language, Veragog. We can't extract an actual meaning from it, but whatever this language is, it's connected to Veragog."

Artemis frowned. "Dwarves?" He pictured an irate Mulch, waving a Softnose aboard a giant, moving clump of mud. Unlikely, to say the least. Disturbing, too.

"It doesn't mean they were dwarves – it just means the language is related to Veragog somehow," Foaly replied.

"That's not surprising, actually," said Holly, sounding pained. "Back in the bounty-hunting business, Mulch was telling me about dwarven origin. He said that they'd always been robbers, and that even their language consisted of bits and pieces scrounged off other ancient tongues."

"I can understand that," Butler nodded.

"What I don't understand, though, is why couldn't I read it with my magic? It should extend to all languages - that's how it's supposed to be."

"I think it might have something to do with the fact that the language files were to big and complicated to fit into our huge database," Foaly said. "It should, at any rate. The database is huge, you know. Anything that doesn't fit in it is ... a mystery."

Artemis pieced everything together in his head. "Alright. So, Foaly, do you have any research at all in these ancient languages?"

"No," came Foaly's reply. "But I know someone who does. A demon, to be exact."

* * *

><p><strong>Well, the plot is thickening nicely. I'm putting a lot of thought into this plot, I think you'll like it. <strong>

**Some reviews would be nice. **

**Also, Inp, Hel and Mei are very unusual names. I don't do things like that for no reason. Does anyone notice something about them? ...;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yo, everyone - I apologise for the long wait. In my defence, I had a concert and a fair bit of coursework to do. Thanks for the reviews, and I agree - I'm definitely going to change the title. I may keep changing it in the future if I feel it's still unfitting. I also finally checked my email and realised a lot of people have added this to their alerts - which is encouraging! Thanks again. **

**Here's chapter 4!**

**Most of the characters belong to Eoin Colfer, and he's triple awesome for answering my questions on AskEoinAnything! I'm certainly going to wear elf ears and play 'Complex' out on the streets for money!**

* * *

><p>Holly secured her helmet, lowering the visor.<p>

"Foaly," she spoke into the helmet mike, "turn off these stupid start-up holograms. I don't need to be _reminded_ that my ears are being flattened in headgear."

"Why?" came the response. "They're aesthetically pleasing – should put you in a good mood for the duration of the shuttle flight, anyway. It's a psychological thing – you wouldn't understand."

"What I _understand_ is that next time I put on this thing, I won't see a single letter."

"Fine, fine," Foaly grumbled. There was a beep, and the offending text vanished.

She examined the shuttle in front of her, walking around it. It was dull. She'd flown better – lots better – but this run-of-the-mill piece of scrap material would do, since it was the only one that had finished refuelling.

"Not much fuel in this, either," she muttered.

"Don't worry. You'll make it. Probably." Foaly reassured.

Holly shrugged and got inside, strapping herself to the seat. Thankfully, the craft had enough space for her to be able to extend her legs fully. She'd been in one of the smaller ones before, and it had been no pleasant experience.

Lowering her visor for a second, she spoke into the ring communicator. "I'm on my way up, Mud Boy. Stay alive until then."

"I'll attempt to," came the dry reply. "And Foaly?"

"I'm already on my way to meet Qwan and No. 1," butted in Foaly through her helmet earpiece. "Hey, that rhymes."

"Good. Establish a connection with us once you get there, assuming Holly's flight is short."

"Was that a joke?" Holly asked. "A surname joke, from Artemis _Fowl_?"

"I don't make jokes," Artemis replied, his voice not betraying a hint otherwise. "Butler and I will be at the co-ordinates I sent you. If we aren't, then you can safely assume something has gone terribly wrong."

"Which it probably will." Holly closed the visor and shut off communications in her helmet, starting the shuttle. There was a whoosh of air as the top clamped shut over her, and her seat lowered slightly. Then she was off, overtaking the speed limit in mere seconds.

* * *

><p>Foaly clopped through the entrance of the café, holding a small bag containing all the resources he had collected that were related to ancient language, and various photographs of the symbols Artemis had sent him. The café was, like all Haven cafés, quite busy at this time in the morning, and there was a deterring queue behind the counter. Foaly had never been a patient centaur, so he decided to ignore the overpowering smell of sim-coffee and focus on finding No.1 and Qwan.<p>

He spotted Qwan first – the old warlock was stood up indignantly, trying to get the attention of someone behind the counter. No. 1 was right next to him, apparently trying to calm him down.

Foaly made his way over to their table, grinning. "What's wrong, Qwan?"

Qwan glanced at him, "It's about time you arrived. And the people here are _ridiculous_. I'm a warlock; I did not spend thousands of years as a stone sculpture to have to wait for even longer at the back of a queue!"

Foaly sat down. "That can't be fun."

"It's not, believe me," said No. 1. "Qwan was about another minute away from turning the gnome at the counter into stone."

Qwan laughed. "I was kidding about that. Although, that would have been funny."

No. 1 winced. "So how have you been, Foaly?"

"Not bad," Foaly shrugged, sliding the folder onto the table. "The usual – designing and redesigning. You know how Trouble can get."

"What's that?" Qwan grunted, pointing unceremoniously at the case.

"This," Foaly said, nodding at it, "is a folder, containing some very important information, along with a couple of other tiny bits which I might need a _little_ help in." He coughed.

Qwan raised a finger. "So you need help?"

"I didn't say that!" Foaly glared. "Actually, Artemis needs help. He just asked me to ask you. I'm just the messenger here."

No. 1 looked puzzled. "But why didn't you just … help him yourself?"

"Anyway," Foaly said loudly, opening up the folder. "Before I show you, I should probably tell you that Artemis and Butler were attacked yesterday." He showed them the image he'd got from the surveillance camera.

"Are they OK?" No. 1 asked, peering at the image. "Do they need healing, or…?"

Foaly shook his head. "Not at the moment, anyway. Holly's flown up to join them, so it should be fine."

A drowsy pixie bumped into their table hard, clearly not awake yet. Qwan seethed. "See what I mean? No respect!"

"Artemis managed to trace to a source on one of his attackers' mobile phones," Foaly continued. "The result was a word, or possibly sentence, written in a language that he couldn't name. Understandably, he then sent it to me, seeing as I'm his intellectual superior, and I know these things."

"But you couldn't figure it out, either," No. 1 nodded. "What I don't understand though, is why you'd ask us? Surely you know more about different languages?"

Foaly pointed at the folder. "I obviously did manage to figure out some information. The language in question is a fairy tongue; an ancient fairy tongue. It didn't match to anything in my database, though, and while I got a semi-match with a Dwarven language, I thought I might be better off asking–"

"–me," Qwan grinned. "Of course – I was around from long ago, after all. Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Foaly pulled out a copy of the text, enlarged and enhanced. He handed it to No. 1. "This is the exact text Artemis sent me; nothing about the symbols has been changed apart from their size.

No. 1 passed it to Qwan,

Qwan stared at it.

The warlock demon's face was obscured by the file, but after a minute passed, it became clear that something was wrong. His fingers tightened on it, and he went visibly still. A rune on the back of his hand began to glow slightly. There was a short, strained silence at the table.

"…Master?" No. 1 ventured.

No response.

"What happened?" Foaly asked. "Can you read it?"

"Bad," Qwan muttered at length, more to himself than in response. "Bad, bad, bad."

No. 1 glanced at him worriedly. "What's bad?"

"This!" Qwan slapped the image back on the table suddenly, surprising both of them. He pointed at it, as if Foaly could read it. "Do you understand what this means?"

When nobody replied, he went on. "Yes, I _can _read it. I wish I couldn't, but hey - that's what I get for being around all the way back then."

"Back when?" Foaly leant in, interested. Qwan had been able to decipher something he, Foaly, couldn't?

"The ancient times, of course. Back before the Battle of Taillte. The demon age." Qwan lowered his voice a little. If he'd had a mug of ale, he would have been hunched over it. "I can read this writing –it's in my native tongue. But it's not in my native tongue."

"What?"

"Me too," No. 1 said suddenly, his voice unintentionally layered with magic, from concentration. His gaze was fixed on the symbols, his eyes glowing slightly – as they did when the powerful young warlock subconsciously tapped into his naturally large energy reserves.

Foaly winced, clearing his head from the magical interference.

"Of course you can read it," Qwan nodded at No. 1. "It's in your blood, boy. And it's always been like it." The old demon got up, gathering up the folder and file into his arms and pushing his way through towards the exit. "We're going. We can't talk here – I don't trust the pixies anymore than I'd trust an army of Leon Abbots claiming to be peace missionaries from Hybrastery."

"Where else can we go?" Foaly raised his voice to be heard as he and No. 1 jumped up to follow Qwan. "And what did the text even say?"

As they strained through the crowd to spot the old warlock's small horns, No. 1 answered quietly. "I might be wrong here, but what I read was 'unidentifiable'.

* * *

><p>Artemis drummed his fingers on the counter impatiently. "She needs to hurry up. Foaly can't have delayed the police for long, and the last thing we need is half a dozen police officers trying to assert inflated authority over a situation they can't handle."<p>

Butler was leant against the wall, inspecting a cartridge pack. Of course, as a bodyguard he wasn't truly relaxing – it was more of a stance than a relaxed position. He shook his head at his young charge. "Artemis, it's barely been fifteen minutes. 16 and a half years old, and you have yet to learn to wait."

Artemis sighed. "Patience is useless where inefficiency is concerned."

It was fairly early in the morning. A little light streamed through from around the edges of the makeshift obstruction that posed as protection from outside.

They had seen little point in leaving and complicating Foaly's co-ordinate trackers, so they'd opted to wait the rest of the night out. Foaly had agreed that the best course of action would be to send a fully kitted-out Holly up to aid them, while he worked on the case below ground with Qwan and his imp apprentice, No. 1.

"Foaly did a good job," Artemis commented. "We barely experienced any trouble all night."

"That he did," Butler agreed. "Although having to depend on him probably isn't one of your favoured circumstances."

"Don't remind me. The first few hours were nail-biting," Artemis said drily.

There was a slight hiss from outside, quiet but easily heard in the tranquil morning. Butler tensed for a second, then remembered.

Artemis smiled in the general direction of the hiss. "It's 10:36, Holly – have we been speeding again?"

The blockage was shifted aside slightly, and a helmeted elf shimmered into view at the entrance of the comic-book shop. "I always speed, you know that."

She removed the helmet and grinned. Not much was different about Holly Short. Perhaps her chestnut-red hair stopped a couple of centimetres further down her head than it had used to, and her suit appeared a little more advanced, but otherwise, the elf was much the same.

She regarded Artemis with exaggerated disinterest. "Well… you've barely changed."

"Likewise," Artemis shot back.

Butler smiled good-naturedly. "Thank the heavens you came. I had a feeling things were about to go awry."

Holly activated her wings, and flew over to hug, or attempt to hug, Butler. It was like trying to hug a mountain. Impossible.

Butler pointed at her wings. "They look different. Has Foaly actually been working, then?"

Holly flew back down to the ground, nodding. "I know - it's incredible! They're about twice as power-efficient now, and at least three times as manoeuvrable. We used to just use reprogrammed DoubleDex, and that's probably the only reason Foaly upgraded them."

"Because they're Koboi-brand?"

"Obviously. He's paranoid about that too, you know. He made sure Trouble added triple the security to her cell - and he claims to be working on a 'Koboi-proof' system from scratch, just in case she escapes again."

Artemis stepped forward. "This is all very nice, but it's necessary that we leave right now. We can return to Fowl Manor, as I have already called ahead. It's important that we don't stay here a minute longer than we already have."

Butler picked up the dismantled Softnoses from the counter. To him they were like oversized water-pistols, except they shot lasers. "Alright. Transport-wise, I managed to arrange for a car - parked about two roads away. The keys will be in its pin-locked compartment; 23980."

"Good." Artemis glanced outside as the wail of a siren suddenly pierced the quiet of the shop. He turned back abruptly. "They're here."

Butler nodded. "They're here. Time to go."

And in less than four minutes, the comic-book shop was empty, with no discernible trace of anyone having taken refuge there for the night. Of course, the entire building was trashed, so this conclusion would be far from anyone's minds if they were searching it.

Two streets away, a teenager, his huge bodyguard and, less obviously, a shielded elf were inconspicuously making their way towards an armoured car. The dim morning provided a little cover; perhaps enough for the few passers-by not to dwell on the unlikely companions that were visible. Nobody wanted any trouble, especially since there were a couple of police cars patrolling the area.

One such passer-by, however - a man who couldn't have been older than twenty - stopped upon sight.

Artemis' gaze focused on him immediately, and he discovered that the man was looking at him, from afar, but in an extremely curious way. Pedestrians did not just stop in the middle of the pavement and stare, unless of course they recognised someone. And people who recognised Artemis Fowl did not just stop and stare, unless of course they happened to want to initiate a sparring match with Butler. Not likely.

"You see him?" Artemis muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," came the whispered reply from Holly. "Is he -"

The man's hand went for his jacket.

Butler's hand moved quicker than the eye could see, and the man, or would-be assailant, collapsed to the floor with a dart in his leg.

_Bang._

The man had still fired, somehow. The bullet wasn't even close, but Artemis' eyes widened. "Butler! The police!"

Holly obliged this time, firing two quick bursts of her Neutrino into the man's hand and chest. He slumped against the cold pavement, out for good. The gun clattered to the ground next to him.

"Go!"

A siren from behind. Artemis whipped round - a police car had already turned into the road behind them. Blue flashing lights filled the street, turning the situation over on itself and wringing out all of the order.

"The car!" Artemis sprinted forward, clinging onto Butler's arm in a fashion that meant he was more being dragged than he was actually running. "No- evidence," he panted as they were about to pass the incapacitated man on the pavement.

Butler didn't even pause as he bent down and heaved the body onto his back, maximising his momentum. A second later, he reached the car. Pulling the door open, he pushed Artemis into the back seat and dumped the unconscious body next to him.

Holly dived inside as Butler appeared in the front seat.

"Seatbelts," he grunted, and slammed on the accelerator, forcing the passengers in the back against their seats. "Or maybe not."

And they were off.

* * *

><p><strong>Bit shorter than the others... eh, but I didn't want to stretch anything. Review, I would like to know your opinions on this!<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Whoops, I had exams... and other stuff**

**fdsjgjfggds**

* * *

><p>"So this is where you stay...?"<p>

Foaly looked around the barren room that the three had arrived at. There were two mattresses on the floor, complete with tattered blankets and torn pillows. A single window window at the back let in a little light from ourside, and there was a chair that looked covered in splinters. Unappealing.

Qwan grinned. "Of course. We demons don't pamper ourselves with all the 'comfort' nonsense - especially not while training."

"I can tell," Foaly said, looking up at the ceiling warily.

"It's all in the conditioning." Qwan winked at No.1. "I remember when I was just an apprentice. I didn't know much about magic then, and every morning my-"

"Master, the symbols?" No. 1 interrupted, before Qwan could launch into an anecdote.

"Hm?"

"The symbols. The ones that Foaly showed us at the café."

"Yes. The symbols I showed you at the café," repeated Foaly.

"Oh, the symbols!" Qwan gasped. "I - I think I left them on the table!"

"_What?_"

Qwan laughed. "Relax. I have them here." He reached into the bag and pulled out two now-crumpled images. "I threw away the folder, though. There didn't seem much point to it."

Foaly gritted his teeth. "I- OK. Never mind that. Explain the symbols."

"Alright. Although, it will take a while. You might want to take a seat."

Foaly pointed at the battered chair. "Do you expect me to sit on _that_?"

Qwan shrugged and settled comfortably into it. "Fine by me. So, the symbols. Well, as I was saying at the café, they are bad news. I recognised them immediately."

"What did they mean?"

"It's not so much what they mean - well, not in that sense. It's what the _language _means. Any fool can scribble down on a piece of paper, but if it's a language, you can find out so much more."

The old warlock leant back and closed his eyes for a minute, then continued. "Once upon a time, demons were a plentiful race. When we were still anchored on Earth. This was before even the Battle of Taillte. yes, this planet's been the host of many species' history. "

"You probably already know that demons were one of the oldest races to evolve here on Earth. Well, No. 1 knows because he's my apprentice, and a sharp one at that. But yes, that is true. Not that I remember that far - I'm not that old - but memories can be exchanged and passed down. We were fairly dominant - but obviously not the only race."

"Back then, we all shared the world - well, I say shared, but it was more live and let live. Humans were doing their own thing with evolution, some of them trying to ignore magic and others killing each other with it. Dwarves were the only race who remained underground, while sprites dominated the skies. And demons? Well, we had our own problems to be dealing with."

Foaly faked a yawn, although his interest was well and fully sparked. "Go on."

"I was. Anyway, you know demons are warlike already - well, obviously, after that nutcase N'zall decided to try and single-handedly destroy his own species because of his hatred for other ones - but we were warlike because we spent so much time warring, strangely enough."

"With each other?" No. 1 asked. It was possible - but hard to believe. Back in Hybras, his kind had been very on-the-spot about things, and organised war between two or more sides seemed unlikely. _On-the-spot_. Nice phrase.

Qwan leant forward with a grin. "No. With angels."

Foaly was surprised. "Angels?"

"Of course. Angels. They're about as opposite as can be to us. Winged, ugly, cowardly great things - as opposed to us demons - who're headstrong and easy on the eye."

There were a few seconds of silence as Foaly considered this. The People had no records on a species of angels, but then again, if they existed before Taillte, then that was an explanation why not. Also, the People had had very limited information on demons, too, until of course they had begun materialising and the entire Section 8 project had started. Qwan however had, through magic, received memories passed down throughout time and warlock apprenticeships - it was entirely plausible.

No. 1 was equally surprised, but he had no reason to question it. He had never known about this opposite species, but then again, he hadn't had a warlock master to pass it on until he'd unfrozen Qwan in the Kimsichiog Gallery. He resolved to ask the old warlock to pass on the memories to him, too.

Foaly pointed at the piece of paper. "I'm guessing that writing is an ancient angel tongue?" It would certainly explain why his translator hadn't been able to crack the text.

Qwan shook his head. "No, I wouldn't be able to read it if it was. Demons and angels are powerful races - possibly two of the most powerful on this planet. Our warlocks possess the strongest magic known to be. Even our languages were intertwined with it, and it was impossible to simply read the others' language without taking a long time to learn it first - and everyone was a lot more concerned with tearing each others' throats out than spending years learning a language they weren't even likely to use."

So that was why the Gift of Tongues hadn't worked for Holly. "Why could you read it then? And No.1? I doubt No.1's learnt the language of a species he didn't even know the existence of until about five minutes ago."

"He hasn't - and this is where it gets serious," Qwan said, his facing turning slightly grave. "As demons and angels, we're supposed to hate each other. Upon seeing some of the human media here, I noticed that us demons are portrayed as hateful Hell-dwellers, and angels as golden saviours. Well, that's not the case, as you well know - just look at No.1; he wouldn't hurt a fly unprovoked. We're just, somehow, polar opposite species. I don't know how that works - you're the technical genius - but even Bludwin would have enough brain cells to realise that we're not meant to _mix_."

"Mix..." No. 1 breathed. Surely-

"Aye. It only takes two fools to cause a major disaster," continued Qwan. "You would _think_ - well, contraceptives weren't very popular - but in any case, I find it difficult to understand how it came to be. You know, if being alive for so long has told me anything, it's that you'll never stop getting surprised out of your wits. The moment I read the writing, I suspected it - but it's all too obvious now. A demon, and an angel - having a child. It's ridiculous - and yet it's true. If only I could find out how it happened - if the universe permitted, I would go back in time and turn the pair of idiots into stone decorations."

Foaly was dubious. "And how'd you come to that conclusion?"

"The language! The text - it was half-Demonish, and half-Angel. If it'd been written in the angel tongue only, I wouldn't have been able to read _any_ of it. The magic of two languages..." He shook his head. "You _can't_ learn one and just learn the other. Don't think I haven't tried ... and I fell ill for a week afterwards. Demons hardly ever fall ill, much less warlocks. This is the only valid explanation, unless you can think of a better one."

"Think of it like that Book you lesser fairies all dote over - even though there have been scores of better books about magic. Apparently if you enter a human dwelling without being invited in - a foolish thing to do, since there's nothing interesting about a human dwelling, you begin to retch and eventually lose your magic. Well, it's similar with attempting to mix both languages into your consciousness - except instead of losing magic, which most demons and angels don't have, you die."

"But why isn't this rule mentioned in the Book?" True to his paranoid nature, Foaly wasn't one to accept something until he was absolutely sure it could be true, and what better way to do that than to question it himself?

No.1 answered this time. "Demons aren't in the Book at all - nor are warlocks, even though we're one of the most magical of all the species."

"Angels aren't, either," Qwan added helpfully.

There was a long pause, during which Qwan got off the broken-down chair and stretched, rubbing his head and muttering about too many questions. No.1 was quiet as always, immersed in his thoughts. He certainly had a lot to think about. Foaly gave the symbols another close look, scrutinising them for something that he could relate to after the discussion. He wondered what Trouble would say if he told him about the existence of another powerful species. The young commander would probably turn bright red, grow a cigar out of his mouth and transform into Julius Root.

"Alright," the centaur said at length. "So the child of an angel and demon is what we're dealing with here. But against the whole of the Lower Elements Police, I doubt it would stand much of a chance, besides you and No.1 being there to combat them."

Qwan turned to him, his face entirely serious. There was almost fear in the warlock's eyes - a weary, old fear. "An angel is a formidable opponent to any warlock or demon. Whatever power this creature has, it's an amalgam of both of the strongest types of magic... and so easily more powerful than mine or No.1's. The LEP, as far as I've seen, have foregone working on their magic for unnatural weaponry - they won't pose much of a threat at all. As for me and No.1..." He glanced at the younger warlock. "We'll do what we can.

* * *

><p>Butler swerved into the Fowl Manor driveway, the gate opening automatically for the car after scanning its registration plate. It shut behind them immediately, and if they hadn't lost their pursuers long ago, no other vehicles would've been able to enter.<p>

There hadn't been any time to put on seatbelts, and as such Artemis was sprawled in his seat, his suit crumpled and his arm pinned down uncomfortably by his own leg. Holly was considerably less ruffled, having been part of far too many shuttle races to not know what to do in that type of situation. She'd had the additional job of taking care of the body, which was, in contrast to Artemis, quite carefully positioned on the seat without so much as a bruise.

The car slowed to a halt, and Butler turned in his seat to look back at them, wincing slightly at the sight of his tangled principal. "Is everything intact?"

"Of course," Artemis said smoothly - punctuating this with what would have been an equally smooth unravelling of his limbs, had he been able to do it. Instead, he managed a feeble tug, banging his head against the window in the process.

Holly watched him in amusement. "Need any help there, genius?"

Choosing to ignore this, Artemis tugged again, this time successfully dislodging his arm. He then checked the unconscious man's pulse.

"Good," he muttered, looking up. "What of mother and the twins?"

"They're inside. You'll just have to avoid them for now; I'll try and explain the situation," Butler replied, opening the car door. "Let's go."

Holly kicked open the car door and got out, stretching briefly. Artemis followed, shielding his eyes from the sun which the clouds were reluctantly beginning to uncover. The beams spread themselves proudly, and the momentary warmth was welcome. Only three days ago, he had dutifully sat out here in similar sunshine with Myles and Beckett, trying to read a chapter of 'Gulliver's Travels' to the pair. They'd seemed far more interested in burying each other in grass.

Minutes later, they were in the house, with Butler laying the body on a table that looked like it had been designed specifically for that purpose. Indeed, it probably had been.

"He's breathing evenly," noted Artemis. "He'll be awake soon."

Butler nodded. "You two will have to interrogate him. I'll deal with your mother, and I'll also have to pay for that car, otherwise you might have a few more enemies on your hands."He slipped out of the door, and it clicked shut behind him.

Holly sighed. "More waiting."

"You haven't waited at all since your arrival," Artemis pointed out. "Besides, he'll be awake shortly."

"I could shoot him on low power," Holly ventured. "He'd be awake a lot less shortly then."

"No," he said firmly. "It's important that he's in a neutral state when questioned."

She shrugged. "In my experience, prisoners always talk more when threatened with a broken bone, or three."

There was a pause. "In Root's experience, you mean."

Holly smiled slightly. "Of course." She'd taken that quote right from the now-deceased Commander. He'd always loved interrogations - probably because they were the only time he could vent some of the steam that always seemed to be building up in his skull.

"Gung-ho," Artemis admitted, "but not practical."

He saw it out of the corner of his eye. A slight flicker of the eyebrow and the smallest of tensions in the forehead.

"Shield - in case," Artemis said quickly, before turning his full attention to the man spread out on the table. He was in no danger - he'd long since emptied out the assassin's pockets of any potential weapons. Now was the time to extract information. A delicate task.

The man sat up and opened his eyes, not looking surprised in the least. He took in his surroundings with a quick turn of the head and then faced Artemis.

"You're alive," he said evenly, as if observing the weather. His eyes flitted about the room briefly, not seeming to focus on anything. Not even the priceless tapestry from mid-Medieval Scotland, nor the antique suits of armour that gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the single window. His eyes passed on, and fixed themselves on a blank part of the wall,

Artemis examined his fingernails. "I imagine you know why you're here."

"I do," came the reply.

"Then you know it'd be wise to co-operate."

"But I know," said the man. His mouth suddenly split into a delighted smile. "I'm Mark. I know exactly why I'm here, and what's more..." He suddenly cut himself off.

Artemis looked up from his fingernails and cleared his throat. "Who is your contractor? Who hired your ... ah, inadequate services? And perhaps more importantly, how _human_ were they?"

The man tipped his head back, his eyes rolling upwards, as if in exasperation. Artemis watched his body language. Relaxed shoulders, no tension. Either this man was extremely confident, or he was extremely stupid. Both notions were unnerving.

"You're up against three," he said abruptly, in a neutral voice. "Two female, one male. No, we're not human, although you've probably figured that out by now. I can't believe this is ... Inp, don't you dare..."

A pause. Artemis glanced around for the familiar heat haze that was Holly, spotting her hovering a few feet above his head. He hoped she was recording this.

"One of the two remaining Human to People links, Artemis Fowl... this is a warning. I -"

The man suddenly slumped sideways without warning, tumbling off the chair and onto the floor with a short gasp. Artemis checked the vitals, but he already knew the man was dead.

Holly landed and unshielded. She'd seen this before. It was standard criminal procedure - if someone gets captured, kill him and do it before he talks. Root loved it, as it meant he could lock up two goblins at the price of one - goblins weren't very discreet about the operation.

"Look," Artemis said, rolling back the eyelids to reveal ragged pupils. The centre of each was clouded, stained with a milky-white fog.

"So he was mesmerised," nodded Holly, crouching down beside him to look. "So what?"

"Pupils are dark because eye tissue absorbs light. Whoever this man is, he was mesmerised so much that his pupils eroded from the centre." Artemis closed the eyes, feeling a twinge of sympathy. "He should've been near blind, and yet he saw well enough to identify and fire at me from fifteen metres away."

"Not sure how he died, though. I scanned the area and there aren't even any wave traces."

Artemis stood up. "Two females and one male, with an affinity for the _mesmer_. That's all we've got."

She grinned. "We've had worse."

* * *

><p><strong>I barely proofread this, so please point out any mistakes.<strong>


End file.
